ODE TO LA BRUJITA VERON

The decorum is scant on the production
of fan videos. Digital satirists the lot of them,
they run the clips through with the music of their
exertion, as if it were that person’s very own aerobic
theme song, those scrappy notes that push peons
past finite reps & into the Warrior Dome Zone.
Like, you and me, we’d probably pick the theme
from Rocky, or that fancy piano puddle in the theme
from Chariots of Fire. But these fans, they have the taste
of deaf leaves. They honor the players by butchering
the sustained intent of their volleys into highlight-reel petards?
They honor the players by making them marionettes
to White Horse or We are the Champions, or some
Norweigan death metal band scorching churches?
When did we start letting fans architect theme music ardor?
But, who is left to pen guitar whines to accompany
Verón’s sinister gallop mode? Who could headbut
the speakers into trilling a sound not unlike a witches’
mix-tape of Vikings crashing into moribund jetties?
There is overkill information about Verón to consider.
Verón’s known as little witch because his father
was one hell of a sorcerer; and, they both played for
Estudiantes, on some circle-is-complete-shit.
Verón’s not your man if you like flash, dang custard,
showoffatron maneuvers or tantric arithmetic.
He’s like that truck you drive, your father’s truck,
whenever you visit them for winter. The hood is bald;
the chassis rattles like an ingot pinata; the rear fender
is rust confederated. But give that truck some gas and
the hood buckles bold releasing gibbous torque wake.